A Drink With Friends
Dimitri: "How is doctor? I take drink? You have drink. Hard work you, Vas, and Li-on. This is Kvass, glorious drink of motherland, you like, no?" Dorian stirred at the sound of glasses clinking together. "Pavlov's drunkard," he slurred, taking some amusement at his observation. The chair had become nigh on uncomfortable. Allowing his head to loll onto his left shoulder permitted the uncovered eye a chance to scope out far more suitable accommodations on the exam table. "Tha little girl," he slurred. Funny side effect...sounds as if my tongue is three sizes too large. "Howshz Miss Shank...uh...Haddie?" he corrected himself as a firm grip to the armrests proved little aid in helping him to rise. The world was swimming before his eye...a lopsided ballet of perfect imbalance and hilarity. The sudden alarm on the three faces set him to snickering quietly as he lurched to his feet. "Not tah worry," the Doc announced. "Ah have sufficient mastery of this condition.....unhand me, sir!! It's all about aim," he slurred drunkenly, "and traject...traject..um...fallin' proper..." As if borne by a host of equally impaired angels, the medic's forward tumble brought him into direct contact with the table. "Shiny," he muttered as the next challenge, the act of climbing onto the table, proved a challenge too daunting for his sedative laden body. In the end, Dorian chose to ooze and riggle his way upward. "And thou shalt crawl upon thy belly," he chuckled, before rolling flat onto his back. "Well," the Doc observed as he now took in the ceiling, "thish ish intolerable. "Somebody crank up tha back of this contraption. Ah wanna look that Russian in tha eye when Ah drink with 'im." The table moved, lifting him to a more comfortable angle. "Um, Doc," a familiar voice offered. "Your robe..." With supreme balance and effort, Dorian lowered his head to take in the sight of his disarray. "Pffft....oops," he snickered as he closed the flaps and attempted to knot the belt. "Well, tha mystery is gone in our relationship....pfft...pfft," he chuckled. "Now...onta bigger and bettah things...pfft...pfft...pfft...mah apologies," his shoulders shook as he fought to regain composure. Dimitri: "Doctor, if you don't mind, how bout that drink? Night cap, I believe it called." "Don't mind if Ah do," he replied, accepting the glass with an unsteady hand. "May Ah propose a toast?" The liquid in the glass sloshed alarmingly as he loosed an awkward gesture toward his shipmates. "Tah punks, nuns, and brewmasters," Dorian lifted the glass. "There is no finah company. Mishtah Dim, what's tha word in Russian?" Tag Dimitri>> Most of the Kvass did make it into his mouth, a fact for which Dorian felt profoundly grateful. The robust, sour tang of the drink brought him to rest his head on the upraised table as he rolled the amber liquid about his mouth. "That...was...fine," he said, his voice quieting as the weight of the sedative bore down. "Ah love this boat." His hand settled at his side, falling open to permit the glass rolling off as sleep made a play for him. Suddenly, Dorian rallied once again, his eye coming open to seek out the faces of his comrades. Settling upon Lyen, his expression became earnest. "Sissstah, Ah......Ah....meant tah......" There was no further resistance. The sedative took him downward, into a deepening sleep.